Lakeshore Christmas

“Hear that?” Omar said. “We’re wiseguys, all three of us.”

“Which reminds me, you’re going to try out for the pageant.”

“Ha. That’s a good one.”

“You think I’m kidding? I wouldn’t kid about something that’s going to get you released from school an hour early, three times a week.”

That clinched the deal for them. The Veltry boys caught a ride home with Noah and Max, leaving Eddie to finish up with the other volunteers. People trickled away, heading home, nagging their kids about weekend chores, checking their e-mail and seeing what was on TV. Eddie didn’t have to worry about any of those things, so he lingered to finish up with the lighting. After a while, he realized only he and Maureen Davenport remained.

“Pretty cold tonight,” he said, just to fill the silence.

“I hope the snow comes soon,” she said. “It’s always so lovely to have snow at Christmas. It never officially feels like the season has started until it snows.”

“Not a fan. But don’t worry. You’ll get your snow any minute now.”

“No, the weather report earlier said there’s no snow in the forecast.”

“Maybe not, but it’s still going to snow. Tonight,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’ve been checking the weather report regularly. There’s not a hint of snow.”

“Have a little faith, Miss Davenport.”

“I have plenty of faith,” she retorted.

“Right.”

She studied him for a few minutes, her gaze both probing and compassionate. “What is it with you and Christmas? Did it start that night?”

Eddie studied her keen-eyed expression. So she’d heard the story. Maybe she’d been at the church when his van had gone flying into the nativity scene. He wondered how much she knew. “Wasn’t my best night.”

“People said it was a miracle you survived the wreck,” she said.

“That’s me. A Christmas miracle. Yeah, people can believe whatever they want,” said Eddie.

He was found lying in a snowbank some twenty feet from the van. Panicked worshipers exiting the church found him that way—dazed, reeking of alcohol.

“Maybe it wasn’t a miracle, but incredibly good luck,” she suggested. “I heard you weren’t wearing a seat belt, and that was what saved you.”

“That’s what you heard, eh?”

“Am I wrong?”

The accident report had been exhaustive because there was an entire congregation to draw from. Witnesses reported seeing the van careen around the bend in the road and, “at a high rate of speed,” it left the icy pavement, plowed down a slope, mowed over the nativity scene and burst into flames, all in a matter of seconds.

There could be no disputing these facts. Too many unrelated witnesses reported seeing the same thing. What no one had witnessed—what no one could explain—was how Eddie had survived. Without serious injuries.

Investigators theorized that the impact of the vehicle hitting the building had caused him to be thrown clear of the van and that the deep snow had cushioned his fall. Experts on such things said that this was one of those rare occasions when the victim had benefited from not wearing a seat belt.

The report went on for pages, recounting the statements of witnesses, police and investigators. It was very thorough in presenting the facts.

One key fact had been neglected, however.

Eddie had been wearing his seat belt that night. A lap belt with a shoulder harness.

He had explained as much to the investigators, and they instantly dismissed that part of his statement. For some crazy reason, he decided to test his theory out on Maureen. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re wrong. I had my seat belt on.”

A soft gasp escaped her, and she pressed a mitten-clad hand to her mouth. “The paper said the only reason you survived was that you were flung from the vehicle before it exploded.”

“I know what I know,” he insisted. “And don’t look at me like that—I read what the reports said. And I know I was in shock from a dislocated shoulder. I also read what the paper said about my blood alcohol level. It’s not so unique for someone on Christmas Eve. Haven’t you ever knocked back a few on Christmas Eve?”

“No,” she said bluntly.

“Well, you might, if you’d had the kind of evening I’d had. My memory is not impaired. I wish it was, because there are things about that night I’d like to forget.”

“What kind of things?”

“It’d take all night to explain. I don’t want us to turn into a couple of Popsicles. Doesn’t matter, because I do remember, and one thing I remember was clipping on my seat belt.”

“Why would you remember that so specifically?”

“Because just like everybody else, it’s a habit ingrained in me from a young age. I spent half my childhood being schlepped around in cars. The reason I remember the situation that night specifically is that I sat in the car for a few minutes, and I considered not fastening it. This was something I deliberated.”

“Why would you deliberate?” she asked.

“Long story short, a girl broke up with me that night. I was still young enough to think it was the end of the world. I felt like shit and I kind of did want to die, but if I did, I’d miss out on the rest of my life, you know?”

Her lips twitched a little at the corners. “Funny how that works.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a career decision. One you can’t take back. So I buckled up.” He could still feel the cold metal of the buckle in his hand. He could still feel and hear the decisive click as he latched it home. There was no way, no possible way he was mistaken.

Except the accident report contradicted him entirely.

“Have you ever felt that way?” he asked Maureen. “Have you ever been that hurt by another person, so hurt you didn’t care if you lived or died?” That was how he’d felt that night, with Natalie. Later, with the clarity of hindsight, he realized the act of proposing had been more important than the woman herself.

He expected Maureen to say something utterly practical, like what nonsense it was to give a person that much power over you. Instead, she surprised him. She nodded slowly and said, “I have.”

“You have.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“When?”

“It’s private.” She looked away, busied herself picking up a stray spool of speaker wire. “No wonder you’re jaded on love,” she commented in a clear attempt to deflect his next obvious question.

“Who says I’m jaded on love?” he asked.

“You nearly lost your life. That must have been the last time you trusted your heart to anyone.”